


Ragged Angels

by make_your_user_a_name



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Husbands, Italian Mafia, M/M, No Smut, Trophy Wife!Dean, tags added later to avoid spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_your_user_a_name/pseuds/make_your_user_a_name
Summary: The veins in the man’s neck bulged as he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “They’ll kill you,” he muttered.“I doubt that,” Cas said.“Just give me more-”“I guess they’ll have to get the money,” his voice was still soft, but he let a slight edge creep into it.The man sucked in a deep breath, but before he could let it out Cas slammed the blade through his throat. A small noise escaped the man, and then he was silent. Cas pulled out the knife and wiped it thoughtfully with the handkerchief in his pocket before stepping back. Then he turned and walked from the warehouse.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

The soft crunch of wheels on gravel sent a shiver down Cas’ spine and he looked up slowly, drawing his knife back from the throat of the man tied up below him. It was an interesting blade--silver and shaped more like a short sword than anything. He’d got it out of a deal years ago, and it had become his trademark. 

“Looks like your friends are here,” he said quietly, tracing the man’s hairline with the cool metal. Cas noted distractedly that his hair was sloppy, like he’s cut it himself months ago and never bothered to try again. From behind him, he could see the drops of sweat running down the sides of his face, but not the man’s eyes. He needed to see his eyes. 

Cas walked around to the front of him and lowered himself to look straight into the man’s eyes. He let a small smile creep onto his face and traced the man’s throat with his knife, letting the smile grow as he did. 

The veins in the man’s neck bulged as he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “They’ll kill you,” he muttered. 

“I doubt that,” Cas said. 

“Just give me more-”

“I guess they’ll have to get the money,” his voice was still soft, but he let a slight edge creep into it. 

The man sucked in a deep breath, but before he could let it out Cas slammed the blade through his throat. A small noise escaped the man, and then he was silent. Cas pulled out the knife and wiped it thoughtfully with the handkerchief in his pocket before stepping back. Then he turned and walked from the warehouse.

He heard shouts behind him, chaos erupting as the body was found. He smiled grimly to himself and rolled his eyes. Then he hopped into his truck and drove away. 

His hands were loose around the wheel, and he could see out of the corner of his eyes that he’d gotten a little bit of blood under one nail. It glittered slightly in the fading light, taunting him, and he tried unsuccessfully to dig it out. Right when he was about to pull over and fix it, a soft buzzing pulled his attention away. His frustration mounting, he pulled his phone from his pocket.

As soon as he saw the name, it all melted away. All the frustration, the nerves that he would never admit still wracked him whenever he killed a man, the sound of tires rolling up still echoing in his mind. All of it gone, replaced with a single name: _Dean_. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. You almost done?” 

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Dean sounded so young, so innocent. He only let himself get like this when he was talking to Cas. That’s when the wall came down. “Yes.”

“And you can still come tonight, right?” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss it.” 

Dean let out a contented sigh, and Cas could almost feel his warm breath against his ear. He moved the phone to hang up, but he heard Dean grunt on the other end, like he was going to say something and then he stopped. 

“What?” 

“Did-” Dean took a deep breath in and then started again with a new steel in his voice. “Did everything go okay?” 

“You know you don’t need to worry about my work.” 

“I know, and I don’t care, honestly. I just-” Dean hesitated again and Cas smiled in spite of himself. He was adorable. “I worry about you.” 

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Dean. Everything’s taken care of.” 

There was rustling on the other end, and then, “Okay. I love you.”

“I know,” Cas said with a smile. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Then he hung up, the glint of blood under his nail catching in the light as he hit the red button and he cursed quietly to himself and set his phone in the cupholder, rolling his shoulders back before turning his full attention back to the road. 

\-------

The smell of champagne and snobbery wafted through the air, and Cas sucked it all in with a smile. He knew almost everyone here of course, though most of them would never admit to knowing him. It was bad for business.

Not that it mattered; tonight was Dean’s night. 

Speak of the devil (or angel, in Cas’ mind), Dean was weaving through the crowd toward him. He’d rented a black tux--Cas would have bought him a nicer one, but he’d refused--and it hugged his form tightly. Dean so rarely dressed up, Cas felt his pulse tick up slightly at the sight. But even if his breathing increased slightly, he looked perfectly calm from the outside. Staying calm under duress was one of his many specialties. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed as he reached him. And Cas almost let a smile slip out, just at that one simple word. The smile he reserved for himself, when no one else could see him. The smile that he even hid from Dean, most of the time anyway. 

So he suppressed it, keeping his face a perfect taciturn mask. “Hello, Dean.” 

He reached out for a flute of champagne from the passing waiter’s tray, but Dean’s hand snaked out and caught his. He took a step in closer and Cas took in another deep breath, determined to stay in control. Dean twisted his hand so they could both see it and slowly traced his nail. The nail with blood still caught underneath it. 

“I thought you said it went well?” 

Cas drew his hand back and pressed a short kiss into Dean’s forehead. “And I thought I said not to worry. Don’t you have places to be? People to introduce me to?”

Dean let out a little huff--Cas had to push back that damn smile again--and then took Cas’ offered arm, leaning into him slightly. He nodded to an older couple standing in the corner. The woman had a floor length red gown on, completely with a sparkling diamond necklace wrapped around her neck. 

Cas’ eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of it. He’d sold it just weeks ago after taking it off a high-ranking government official. He’d almost bemoaned the loss, regardless of the profit. Dean had looked amazing with it and nothing else on. He glanced down at Dean and saw the blush rising in his cheeks. He pulled him a little closer to his body then guided him over to the couple. 

“Mrs-,” he paused for effect, even though he never forgot a name, “Autry, was it?” 

She glanced up, and to her credit, gave no sign of recognition. “Yes, it is. And you are…” she trailed off, with a quaint raise of one brow. 

“Mr. Novak. And this is my husband, Dean Winchester. He organized this whole event.”

Her companion’s eyebrow raised at the word husband and Cas rolled his eyes slightly, forcing a civil expression. 

“This is my husband, Charles Autry.” 

The party lapsed into awkward silence, and Cas felt Dean shift beside him, clearly searching for a topic of conversation. Cas squeezed his arm a little and looked straight ahead with clear eyes. They could handle a little silence. And Dean needed to remember, even if this was his event, Cas was in control. 

Mr. Autry cleared his throat and took a champagne before glancing between them. “So, ah, how did you two meet?” 

“At an event just like this one,” Cas said softly, as if daring further comment. 

“And it really,” the man glanced at his wife, then back at them, “It really works? I mean how much older are you?” 

Cas sighed. It was inevitable that they would get asked questions like this, but it really did nothing to help his already roused anger. “Twenty-two years,” he answered, tugging Dean’s arm gently. “Excuse us.” 

They walked to the front of the room where a table was set up, their names displayed at two of the place settings. Dean felt stiff beside him, his movement mechanical, and Cas unhooked Dean’s arm from his own, stopping to face his husband front on. 

He leaned in close, putting his ear right beside Dean’s. “I don’t care how old you are, Dean. You are mine. And they all know it too.” 

Dean shuddered visibly, but then he seemed to relax, an easy grin spreading across his face. “You sure about that, angel?” 

Cas reached up a hand and slowly trailed it down Dean’s cheek, noting how quickly he leaned into the touch. “I’m sure.” 

He pulled Dean’s chair out and gently guided him down with his hands on his shoulders before pushing the chair in for him. He took his seat right next to Dean, and then sat in silence as the rest of the table filled up. 

The people at these things always looked the same. Black tuxes, plunging necklines, scandal practically oozing off of them. 

One of the black tuxes leaned forward and nudged his partner, pointing at Dean. “Hey,” he started, “you’re the one who organized this whole thing, right?”

“That’s me.” 

“I think it’s really amazing. What you’re doing for all these women…” he trailed off and Dean nodded slowly, his eyes glittering with amusement. The guy coughed into a handkerchief and then went on, “it must be nice getting to be around them all the time too.” 

In an instant, Dean’s eyes narrowed and he raised slightly in his chair. Cas put a steadying hand on his arm and Dean looked over at him, the anger slowly fading from his face. “That’s not what this is about. This about helping survivors of abuse and if you-” he cut off as his voice started to rise and he took a deep breath. 

“What Mr. Winchester means,” Cas stepped in smoothly, “Is thank you for coming tonight.” 

The gentleman nodded and gave a small shrug before turning to his wife. 

“You okay?” Cas said with a hand on Dean’s knee.

“Fine. I know we need their money… but these people are dicks.” 

Cas tilted his head and looked up and down Dean’s face. “Yes… yes I suppose they are.” 

Dean grinned over at him and picked at the salad that the waiter had just brought. “We are so going out for burgers after this.” 

“You’re insatiable,” Cas said with a roll of his eyes. But anyone who knew him well could see the ghost of a smile dancing around his lips. 

\-------

The cold air bit into them the second they stepped out into the busy New York street. Cas wrapped his coat tighter around himself and slipped Dean’s arm through his own. 

A limo pulled up to the curb but Dean looked up at him, and as so often the case with them, he understood exactly what he needed. “We’ll walk,” Cas said to the valet. 

Their steps echoed off the walls as they left the din of car horns and squealing tires and entered the relatively quiet alley behind the venue. 

“That went well,” Cas started. 

Dean’s face lit up like it always did when he talked about the shelter. He wet his lips the answered, “Yeah. It really did. We made $7,000 more than our goal and there was lots of press there. If we follow it up… we should get all eight women into apartments by the end of the month.” 

Cas pressed a kiss into Dean’s hair. “I’m glad.” 

He could see the next street opening out in front of them, barely one hundred feet away. Cars sped by and people milled about under the glow of the street lights. Barely one hundred feet to go, and Cas felt all of his senses suddenly go on edge. He wasn’t sure what he’d heard, or even what he’d seen, but something was wrong. 

The gun he’d tucked in his waistband (despite Dean’s protests) felt cold against his skin, and he reached back for it without thinking. Dean glanced down at the weapon and his eyes widened. Still, he rolled his shoulders back and glanced around the alley, his eyes narrowing as quickly as they’d opened up. 

The soft sound of fabric rustling sent them both whirling around, instinctively twisting so they were protecting each other’s backs. 

“Hello, boys,” a gravelly voice tinged with a British accent whispered as a man wearing a black trenchcoat emerged from the shadows.

Cas felt his lips part just barely and he sucked in a deep breath. “Crowley.” 

“You took something from me today.” 

Dean moved next to him, shifting slightly so they were both facing Crowley. He felt Dean pull the knife he kept inside his jacket out and let it hang loosely at his side. 

“The groveller you sent to beg forgiveness? Pardon me if I’m not bowing before you,” Cas said, letting his voice drop into its lowest registers. 

“Gavin was family.” 

Cas kept his face composed, but inside he felt a little thrill. Family? He’d thought it was just another of Crowley’s goons, one of the indisposable goons he called on when he didn’t want to get his hands dirty. 

Dean took a step forward and rotated the knife slowly in his hand. “What was he? Some bastard son from an affair with a whore?” He snorted and looked back to Cas with raised eyebrows before turning his attention to Crowley. 

Cas had to give him credit. He didn’t even know who Crowley was and still without hesitation he went after him. Although, Dean always did have a temper to him. 

Crowley shuffled his feet and didn’t respond, and this time Cas did let his expression show. Just a single quirked eyebrow as he stepped forward to join Dean. 

“He _is_ your son,” Cas said, his tone growing more light-hearted. “Well in that case, my sincerest apologies.” 

“You took something from me,” Crowley repeated, “and now I’m going to take something from you.” 

Cas felt the blow to the back of his head before he could even turn, and immediately pain shot through him, his vision dancing with black spots. Instinctively, he turned to find Dean. 

He was grappling with a masked man against the wall, but he seemed okay for the moment, so he turned to the person who had hit him. She tried to slam the walking stick into his head again but he grabbed it, twisting it from her grasp. 

He stepped forward, his breath settling and becoming smooth before he struck her on the temple with her own weapon. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth dropped open. For just a second, she stood there, swaying, Then she crumpled to the dirty ground. 

To his left, a body dropped, and he felt a cold hand wrap around his heart. But as his eyes readjusted to the dim light he saw Dean standing over the body, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a trail of blood dripped from his knife. 

Cas moved toward him, but before he could even take two steps, the cool rush of electricity jolted through his system and everything went black. 

\-------  
When he came to, his cheek was pressed against an advertisement for a weekend getaway to Cabo that had been dirtied by its time outside. He peeled himself off it and sat up, head ringing as he glanced around the alley. 

A sleek black cat jumped down from a garbage can and disappeared into the night, but there was nothing else. No sign of Crowley, of the people who had jumped them, of the body Dean had dropped, of-

His train of thought came to a crashing halt as he leapt to his feet glancing around frantically. 

Dean was gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up and immediately wished he could go back to sleep. His jaw ached, and when he tried to shift it there was a sharp pop so he decided to let it be. Rope scratched against his tied hands, and he struggled to shrug his shoulder against the bindings and ease some of the tension filling him. 

He heard footsteps behind him as he looked around, trying to get his bearings as quickly as possible. A bright fluorescent light hung from the ceiling and he squinted at it, quickly averting his eyes. He knew Cas had a few places like this too, but he never pressed him for details. He figured it would be safer for both of them. 

The footsteps came to a halt and Dean resisted the urge to turn his head to see who had entered the room behind him.

“Dean Winchester.” It was the same voice from the alley. What had Cas called him? Crowley? 

“Crowley,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. Getting jumped in the alley had been one thing. He’d reacted instinctively, immediately reverting to who he’d been all those years ago. But now the pressure was more drawn out, his nerves stretched to the extreme. And adrenaline wasn’t gonna cut it. 

“So Castiel is really shacking up, huh? With a little twink too.”

Dean bit his tongue and stared straight ahead as Crowley moved around to stand in front of him. 

“How old are you, boy?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked. His heart was starting to pound less fervently against his rib cage and he felt in control again. “Nine and a half,” he said with a wink. 

He saw the fist coming, but he didn’t dodge it. He just steeled himself as it slammed into his right cheek, managing to stop himself from flinching entirely. 

“Oh, Dean.” Crowley’s voice was surprisingly calm for the anger that seemed to roll off of him in waves. “We know everything about you. Your father beat you until he died of alcohol poisoning. You bounced around in the system. The only family you really had in high school was a dirty street gang. A school counselor helped you clean your act up and you got off drugs, went to school, got into non-profit public relations. Quite the success story, really.”

“Ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?” Dean said, licking his lips. 

“Not really,” Crowley said smoothly. “And after all that, after you made something of yourself, got off the streets and started making a, what would they call it… a positive impact on the world…” He trailed off, snorting and looking Dean up and down. Dean scowled back at him, but let a cold smile slip onto his face before Crowley went on. “After all that you fucked a Don.” 

“Jealous?” 

Crowley pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the back of his hands before tucking it neatly back into his pocket. “We don’t need anything from you, Dean. Not really. I mean, eventually, we’ll kill you.” He chuckled softly and stepped forward, grabbing Dean’s bruised jaw and turning him so their eyes met. “But I need to get Castiel here first. I want to have him watch the life drain from your eyes, watch you beg for mercy.” 

“Sweetheart, I don’t beg.”

Crowley released the hand from his jaw and patted his cheek twice. “Sure, darling. And after your guts,” he spat the word, almost like it offended him, “are spilled all over the floor… then I’ll kill Castiel, and damn all the retribution that will come with it.” 

“Why?” Dean considered his next words, knowing he’d probably get more than a punch to the face for them, but decided he was here anyway and he might as well enjoy it. Dean grinned up at Crowley and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Because Cas killed your kid? I bet he enjoyed it, too. Bet he took his time, did it real slow.” The thought made him cringe, because he knew Cas wasn’t like that. He was a killer, sure. But he didn’t enjoy it. Still, it was worth saying it to see the look on Crowley’s face.

His jaw went slack and his eyes widened just a little. It seemed like an eternity, waiting for him to respond. Waiting for a finger to get cut off, an eye to be taken out, a vein to be cut. But Crowley just stood there, his eyes cold and empty. 

Eventually, he stepped forward, slamming his fist into Dean’s jaw one more time. Dean felt his mouth fill up with blood, and he spat the metallic liquid out toward Crowley. 

Crowley took a deep breath and looked him and up and down, his face a mask of disgust. “I’ll leave you for Stella,” he said quietly. Then he walked from the room, each step slow and deliberate. 

Dean waited for the footsteps to fade completely before jerking his hands against the ropes. They were tight, professional. But they were also rope, which meant he should be able to get out of them given time. He wondered briefly why they didn’t use zip ties or even handcuffs, then he turned his attention back to the task. 

It hurt like hell. His wrists were already rubbed raw and his shoulders were tight from being held back at that angle. And on top of that, his jaw was throbbing from the blows and the confrontation in the alley. 

Part of him wondered if Crowley had a point. He’d gotten away from the rough side of the city. Had made something of himself despite what everyone thought. Was happy, was helping people. And now he was here. 

He didn’t blame Cas, he’d gotten involved with this, and he knew full well what the risks were. He’d chosen Cas. Or, really, Cas had chosen him. He might play the tough guy to everyone else, but both he and Cas had no confusion over who was in charge. He belonged to Cas. He had to belong to Cas so fuck any consequences that came with it. 

He shivered a little and turned his attention back to the ropes cutting into his skin. After a minute, he started to feel the bonds loosen a little. Before he could slip a hand out the echoes of footsteps once again made him freeze. These were different though, lighter. He twisted his fingers painfully upward to grab the slack rope and make it look tight, and then straightened his shoulders, sitting still. 

His new visitor entered the room slowly, as if waiting for Dean to turn his head. When she finally entered his field of vision he felt white hot anger course through him. It was the girl from the alley. Stella, apparently. 

“You’re the bitch who attacked Cas,” he spat. 

“In the flesh.” She said it flatly, without any sass or attitude. And that only served to make Dean’s skin crawl more. 

He sneered up at her, trying to gauge how closely she was paying attention. Then he tried to decide how quickly he could get a hand free and strangle her. Probably not fast enough. 

“Mr. Delfino wants you to be more bloodied up when your boyfriend gets here,” she said, pulling a knife from inside her jacket, her face still completely blank. 

“Husband,” Dean corrected automatically. Then he paused, frowning. “Crowley’s last name… is Delfino?” He snorted. “What was he adopted?” 

“Yes,” she said with a shrug. Before he had time to respond, she pressed the knife into his cheek, dragging it slowly across to create a deep cut. 

He grit his teeth together and breathed sharply through his nose. “So, you his daughter? That your brother that’s six feet under?” 

She jammed the knife into his shoulder and left it there, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Crowley is my brother. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You were on the streets, you don’t know what family means. And then,” she stepped forward, taking the knife out before immediately jamming it back in, and Dean couldn’t stop the growl that escaped him. “And then you go and marry the man that somehow got to the top of a family he isn’t even a part of. A family he infiltrated and corrupted. One of the oldest, one of our allies.” She shook her head and stopped herself, seeming to realize Dean wasn’t saying anything, was just staring at her with pain coursing through his body. 

Stella stepped back, taking the knife with her. She looked down at it thoughtfully, then tucked it back in her jacket. Dean vision was starting to go blurry on the edges but he tracked her eyes carefully. Her mask was starting to slip a little, and he could see the barely contained heat brimming under the cool surface. 

He got his hands ready, letting go of the rope he was still holding tight around his wrists. “Well he’s dead. And he’s never coming back.” His jaw ached with every word, but it paid off. As soon as the words left his mouth her demeanor shifted completely. She narrowed her eyes and let out an almost feral growl before lunging forward, striking him across the face. 

He grunted in pain and tried to stay focused as her fists struck him over and over. Everything went fuzzy and black, but he maintained a thin thread to reality. It wasn’t too hard when he pictured Cas’ eyes. Piercing blue cutting through the red hot pain. 

He could almost hear his voice, low and soothing but radiating power. _Focus, Dean. I’m here, but you have to focus for me._

So Dean let his head be whipped back and forth, his entire face swollen and bloody and bruised and his arms dripping blood. And he focused on his hands, on the rough rope coiling around them. He was so close now, to being completely free. The longer he strained against the constraints, the looser they felt around him. 

He felt the exact moment they slipped to the floor. It was right as Stella delivered a forceful blow to the throbbing wound on his shoulder. He cried out, leaning forward. Then he sucked in a deep breath, focusing on Cas, only Cas. 

Free of the rope, his hands came forward easily, but his motions were clumsy, pain clouding his thoughts. He clawed at her throat, pushing her back and throwing his whole weight on her. His only advantage here was brute strength and size. 

She stumbled backward, the fury fading from her eyes and some of the reason returning. Her hand went for the knife in her jacket and he swatted it away, following up his advantage and landing on top of her, hands at her throat. 

“Stop,” she gasped, her whole body straining against him. But he couldn’t, or he wouldn’t. His mind was just a red haze complete with high-pitched buzzing. He tightened his grip around her neck, the pain in his arms and on his face a dull throb in the background. The light in her eyes died slowly, and eventually she stopped thrashing. 

Everything slowed down and he leaned back on his heels, panting. He took several deep breaths to steady himself and then forced himself onto his feet. With tired eyes, he stared down at her still body. He didn’t know if she was dead, or just passed out. He didn’t have time to care.

Some part of him whispered, _This isn’t you. You help people now._ But he pushed it back. He could help people a different day. 

He pulled back his blood-soaked shirt from his shoulder and looked more closely at the wound. Neither cut was nearly as deep as he’d thought they were, and he rotated his shoulder a couple times, nothing there was a sharp stab each time, but he could still move it. 

He didn’t even bother to touch his face. It was puffy and throbbing and it wasn’t going to get better. But he had to get out of here anyway. He turned and examined the rest of the room behind the chair where he’d been sitting. It was a warehouse, but it was cleaned up, almost clinical. There was a large double door that was propped open that led into a hallway nearly as brightly lit as the room he was standing in. Everything looked too perfect, too spotless, and the light just made every surface shine. 

After his heart rate had dropped and his breathing evened out he walked to the doorway. He turned back to look at the room and saw Stella’s body lying there, completely still. The voice was stronger now, telling him to rush over to her, to take her pulse, to try to help. 

He stood motionless, his inner voices battling it out, but then they faded completely and he sighed in defeat. He half-jogged to her side and knelt next to her. 

The ground felt cold beneath his legs, and it seemed to dig into him as he reached out two fingers for her neck. He pressed them into the vein and waited, breathless. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a steady if somewhat weak beat against his fingers. He pushed himself up with his good arm and went to finally leave when suddenly her whole body seized. 

Coughs racked her body and her arms flailed uselessly at her sides and her eyes flew open. They were filled with terror, but they fixed on him, met his gaze with desperation.

“Dammit,” he said under his breath. Stella’s arms pushed against the floor, tears flowing freely from her eyes as she struggled to push herself up. Cursing himself silently the whole time, he lifted her by the shoulders, letting her sit up straight and open her windpipe. 

The coughs lasted a few more moments and he let her use him as a support, stopping her from falling to the ground. 

When they finally stopped she looked up at him, tears thick on her face from the full-body coughs that had taken her over just moments before. “Fuck off,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. 

He shrugged and steeled himself. She was alive, she was okay. He stood and turned back to face the door, and his heart froze. Crowley and two of his men stood there. Crowley had his hands in his pockets, and there was a smirk on his face as he took the situation in. 

“I was wondering what was taking so long,” he said softly. 

Then he nodded to the men and they rushed forward, roughly grabbing Dean’s arms and pulling him to the floor. 

He moved to fight, but he was exhausted. And a new bout of pain wracked his body as soon as they pulled at his injured arm. So he let himself be forced to the floor. Let himself submit as they knelt on his back, deciding his fate. 

Silently, he prayed. It didn’t matter that his husband would never hear him, it was a comfort all the same. 

_Hurry up, Cas. Please. I need you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos? :)


	3. Chapter 3

He felt his eye twitch again and fought the urge to let his whole face twist into a scowl. His lungs filled with the freezing air as he took in another deep breath. When he was in control again, he turned around. 

Balthazar’s features were barely visible in the dim light of the warehouse, and he wondered briefly if he should have just had him come to his home. It wouldn’t have been abnormal, Balthazar was one of his closest confidants. But he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t let anyone know that for the first time in, well maybe ever, he was spiraling. 

“What do you mean you haven’t found him?” he asked through clenched teeth. It sounded stilted, lost. He hadn’t really succeeded in getting himself under control. And maybe that was another reason they’d met so out of the way. 

“We cannot locate Dean Winchester,” Balthazar said for the second time that night. Cas was silent, and he continued, “We aren’t sure why they’re hiding him. It seems clear that they’re only keeping him so you’ll come find him. Some sort of revenge deal. Everyone knows you love your pretty little sidepiece-”

In an instant, Cas was on him, all his composure gone. He gripped Balthazar by the collar and looked into his eyes. The eyes of a man he would trust with his life. “He’s not a sidepiece,” he said, his voice low. 

“Right,” Balthazar said with an eye roll. Cas wanted to pull a gun then, a knife, anything to make him take this seriously. But Balthazar had never been easily fazed. “You just married a man twenty years younger than you for his winning personality.” 

Cas let go of his collar, Dean’s green eyes filling his mind. “You’ve never understood it.”

“Don’t need to. That’s why you pay me.” 

Cas grunted, pushing Dean’s face from his mind and focusing back in, grounding himself. He clenched and unclenched his fists in the pockets of his trenchcoat in an attempt to get blood flowing through his fingers again. It didn’t work. They remained stiff and swollen in the cold, completely useless. “If this is revenge then why have we not found his body. It’s been two days.” 

“Crowley wants more than that.”

“How did we not know he had a son?” Cas said bitterly. It wasn’t often he regretted killing someone. He always made sure he had a good reason, so why would he? But this, if he lost Dean because he’d killed Gavin Delfino… 

“Don’t know. Crowley wanted him out of the drama, maybe even out of the family.”

“If you get wind of anything, _anything_ , you let me know, okay?” 

Balthazar nodded before turning and melting into the darkness. 

Cas just stood there for a minute. The cold air reached out for him, enveloping him. It seemed to call to him, to beg him to lay down on the damp floor and stay there. Wait for some construction crew or teens looking for a fix to find him, body deteriorating slowly. But he couldn’t do that. Dean was still out there, otherwise they would have found a body. And Dean needed him. 

He went home eventually. He didn’t remember driving back or calling a car, but somehow he was there, walking into the lobby and taking the elevator to the top floor. When he walked stiffly into his living room, he was ready to collapse. To let himself crumple to the floor and spend the night there, uncomfortable enough that maybe he could take some of Dean’s pain away, whatever they were doing to-

No. He couldn’t think about that. 

But as much as he wanted to let the strong facade slip, the minute he walked into the living room, his blood ran cold. 

“Abaddon,” he growled. 

“Hey, Cas. Long time. Where’s your sweet piece of ass? Did he finally get tired of you?” 

He took a deep breath and pulled the knife from his coat. But he couldn’t use it. Taking out another of Crowley’s kin wasn’t the smartest movie. 

“Where is Crowley keeping him?” he said smoothly, ignoring tightening in his jaw muscles. 

“Wow. You sound like you don’t even care. And here you go on and on about how much you love this kid-”

“He’s not a kid,” he cut in before he could stop himself. 

“Right. He’s- what? 26?” 

“28,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together. If this conversation lasted longer than Crowley would have real reason to hurt him. 

“Well,” she said, smiling broadly. “We all know why you really want him. He’s just your pretty little trophy wife.” 

He kept his face expressionless even as his mind told him to shoot her on the spot, clean up the mess later. That wouldn’t help though. “Where is he?” 

She rolled her eyes and slipped a hand into the pocket of her tight-fitting black jeans. When her fingers emerged, they held a crisp folded paper. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “This is an address. Crowley was tired of waiting. Come alone, tomorrow night, and maybe we’ll let him live.” 

He took the paper and looked down at the neatly pencilled address. When he looked up, all he caught was a glimpse of her bright red hair swishing behind her as she left the room.

Then he collapsed. There was no one to see him, no one to hear his panicked breathing. He didn’t cry, he never really had been able to, but the pain rolled over him in waves. Dean was somewhere, alone, hurt, suffering, wondering where he was. Cas closed his eyes, and for a moment he felt Dean’s lips against his. Then the taste went cold, leaving the ghost of a tingling sensation burning against him. 

If he went alone, Crowley would kill them both. That was his plan, it had to be. To make him watch Dean die before flatlining him. He cursed himself inside. The man who’d sent Gavin hadn’t even owed him that much. And now he was in this mess.

After a while, his breathing started to slow, and his thoughts stopped spinning so fast. His mind filled with pleasant memories of Dean. He saw them dancing on the rooftop where no one would see, the stars covered by the smaug of the city but the light in their eyes enough for both of them. 

He remembered the first time they’d met, at an event much like the other night. He remembered the electricity, the shiver that ran through him when their eyes met. He remembered kissing passionately in the alleyway behind the event, Dean skipping the speech he was supposed to give. Then Dean had learned his name, had stepped back, eyes wide and fearful. That hadn’t stopped them from finding their way back to each other though. 

Because they did find their way back. Over and over and over. It hadn’t been easy, and before they’d been married, they were more often lost to each other than not, but they’d still done it. 

So they would do it again. He would figure out a way before tomorrow night to save them both. Because Dean Winchester was his. And he’d be damned if he was going to let Crowley take him. 

He woke up in a pile in the living room, sunlight streaming in through the windows. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

He didn’t remember drinking either, but a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table and his head was pounding. His throat felt dry, and he swallowed, staggering to his feet to find water. 

The light near the window was even brighter, but the sink was there, so he squinted as his glass filled. After chugging it, he felt a little better. The splitting headache receded and was replaced by a single thought. The only thought he’d ever cared about in the last few years. 

_Dean_. 

He was gone. Not dead yet, thank God. But Cas needed a plan for tonight. Because otherwise Dean would die. They would both die. 

He called his attendant while he started his second glass of water and asked him to clear his schedule today. He’d had a few meetings with art dealers that were in town, but nothing he couldn’t miss. 

Instead he would devise a plan. A foolproof way to ensure Dean’s safety. And his… but at the end of the day, if he didn’t come out of this alive and Dean did, then that was all that mattered. 

He finished the glass and set it by the sink before wandering back into the living room and cleaning up some of the mess. The one picture he had in the place was tipped over, so he reached down to set it up. 

It was on the side table next to the couch. Dean and everyone else claimed it was probably bad form to display any affection or weakness in the place he so often conducted business. 

But he hadn’t been able to resist. 

It was a photo of Dean and him in cowboy hats. It was stupid, ridiculous, childish. Anyone who knew them casually would say it was out of character for both of them. 

Dean was collected, mature, always ready to handle high-ended discussions. He was good at working with his hands, but for the most part he was soft-spoken with strangers. Not that he was shy, he was incredibly at making connections and using those. But for all intents and purposes, he wasn’t the kind of guy to dress up in cowboy attire with his boyfriend (that would become his husband).

And Cas… well, Cas was the kind of man you didn’t want to cross. The kind of man who was always one step ahead, who always had a strategy, an endgame. He was not the childish man with a soft smile in that picture. 

But he kept it on the end table all the same. He loved the memories attached to it. 

He and Dean had taken the afternoon off. After lunch, they’d wandered around town. When they saw the Western shop, Dean had insisted they stopped. He had always loved cowboys, almost to an unhealthy amount. But Cas, as always, was happy to indulge. 

He smiled fondly down at the picture, remembering the laughs. And then remembering that night, when he’d found out just how much Dean loved cowboys. 

The memories came with a sharp stab of pain. Dean wasn’t there to laugh with him. He hadn’t been there to wake up next to. To make Cas coffee before he flew into a murderous rage. 

But he would be. 

Tomorrow morning they would wake up together in the same bed, curled into each other. Cas would be whole again, because Dean would be there. 

As he gently placed the picture back in its spot, he heard a distant buzzing. Casting a glance around the room, he saw his phone lying on the floor. Holding back a yawn, he walked over and picked it up. 

“What?” he said shortly. He didn’t have time for casual calls today. Didn’t have time for any calls, really. 

“Cas?” 

Oh. 

“Hello, Sam. What can I help you with?” 

The younger Winchester sighed on the other end and Cas could almost see him rising from his chair, pacing nervously around the room. 

“I just-” he stopped and cleared his throat and Cas almost interjected to get to the point before him. He and Sam were on fairly good terms. He was one of the few people Cas could genuinely call a friend. But Sam blamed him for a lot, too. Blamed him for some of Dean’s bad habits. 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t approve of their relationship. He often said he’d never seen Dean happier. 

But an angry Sam Winchester was not what he wanted right now. 

“Sam,” he said before he could continue. “You don’t need to be worried.” 

“I haven’t heard from Dean in days. Cas,” There was a soft thud on the other end. Sam must have sat back down. He probably had run a hand through his hair, too. “Please just tell me he’s with you.” 

Cas hesitated. His first instinct was to lie. And he got Dean back tonight, then lying was the best path. There wouldn’t be any harm. 

But if he didn’t… if he failed. Well, for one, if he failed then he wouldn’t be alive to deal with the consequences. But if for some crazy reason he was, then he didn’t want Sam Winchester on his ass. The kid was ex-military and was now studying law. He could handle weapons and he wasn’t afraid to get dirty, but he could take you out with words just as easily. 

Which wasn’t actually a bad asset to have…

“He’s not with me,” Cas said finally. He knew he’d have to play this perfectly. Sam didn’t like breaking the law, not when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He knew exactly the kind of work Cas was in, and he could never condone it. But he wouldn’t stand up against it either. 

“Then where the hell is he, man?” 

“Is Jess there?” If Jess was there, she would talk him out of it. She would make him see sense, would tell him to hand this to the police. If Jess was there then this whole plan was out the window. 

“She’s at her parents for the week. What the hell is going on, Cas?” Sam’s voice was less controlled now, it was starting to rise. Which was exactly what Cas needed. “What happened to Dean?” Sam added forcefully when Cas didn’t answer. 

“He’s not okay, Sam.” He let some emotion creep into his voice. It wasn’t faked, he just stopped masking it for a second. Dean was gone. The second he let himself think about that, process that, he felt close to breaking down again. 

“Dammit, Cas,” Sam sighed. “Give it to me straight. What’s going on?” 

“We got-” he paused, as if to reconsider. As if every word wasn’t carefully weighed before it was spoken. “I got caught up in something. And they took Dean. He’s alive, though.” 

“He’s alive,” Sam said slowly. “He’s alive?!” his voice was dripping with sarcasm now, every syllable biting. “Jesus, Cas. Who the hell has him?” 

“I can’t tell you that,” Cas responded quickly. He could almost see Sam lean in, could see his eyebrows draw closer as his eyes narrowed. 

“Fine,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?” 

Cas smiled through the pain. Perfect. 

“I’m going tonight. I’m getting him out, Sam.” 

“I’m coming with you.” It was immediate, no hesitation. In fact, Cas probably didn’t have to play this game of hook and sinker. The Winchesters would do anything for each other. But it was better to be safe. 

“I have to go alone.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Sam-” he started. 

“This is my brother,” came the response. Sam cleared his throat again. “I’ll be over there in a few, okay? We can get a game plan together, and then we’re getting my brother out. We’re getting him out, alive.” 

Cas wanted that. More than anything. More than he could admit to anyone, even himself. It was scary, how dependent he’d become on Dean. How happy Dean made him, even when he only showed it occasionally. Dean was everything. And Dean would hate the idea of Sam going into danger, so he had to say something. Just once, and then he would take Sam’s offer for help, no question. 

“Dean wouldn’t want you risking yourself for him, Sam.” 

“I don’t care,” he repeated. “He would do the same for me. You know he would.”

“Alright,” Cas breathed. “Be over as soon as you can. We’re rescuing Dean.” 

When the line went dead, he let out a heavy breath. 

This had to work. If this didn’t work--

No, he couldn’t think like that. This would work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow me updating again what is this
> 
> how we feeling now that it's canon bitches

**Author's Note:**

> this is for an anon tumblr prompt, and i NEVER write stuff like this
> 
> so lemme know what you think :)


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